


Feasts

by Thimblerig



Series: Musketeer Shorts [24]
Category: Christmas - Fandom, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas traditions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-26 05:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: Gift fic for Anathema Device: “historically accurate xmas/new year musings by the boys”I am not an expert on Christmas customs, but did my best. (May the gods of Google Research, and you, be kind.)// The second section includes off-stage childbirth. Everything turned out fine that night, I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anathema Device (notowned)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/gifts).



> Gift fic for Anathema Device: “historically accurate xmas/new year musings by the boys”
> 
> I am not an expert on Christmas customs, but did my best. (May the gods of Google Research, and you, be kind.)
> 
> // The second section includes off-stage childbirth. Everything turned out fine that night, I promise.

**Saint Nicholas’ Day**

 

_Pinon, Normandy, December 6, 1606_

Olivier d’Athos de la Fere sniffed against the bitter night air. He did not dare lift a hand against the wind, to shield his running nose, his watering eyes. His father stared at him, slightly chiding, even so.

Olivier straightened, under the layers of good Flemish wool he wore, and schooled his expression. The village of Pinon was quiet around them, only a few cracks of light peeping through the shutters. There was a carriage, behind them, where his mother sat away from the wind with Thomas, red-cheeked and chortling in a wrapping of fox-fur, waiting for this chore to be done.

Straight and tall, his father strode through the snow with a heavy leather sack over his shoulder. Good though his boots were, the snow slush was uncertain underfoot: Olivier stepped carefully in his father's footprints.

At the tiny house of one of the meanest tenant farmers, the Comte knelt and opened the sack, and Olivier retrieved packets of nuts and dried fruit and little whittled toys, and put them in each of the polished shoes left outside the door, topping each with an expensive imported orange. His father left in addition a wrapped bundle of soft white bread, a joint of meat, and a corked jug of soup, straightening abruptly.

“We have a duty, that's all.” He strode fiercely on.

Olivier followed.

 

**

 

**Christmas Eve**

 

_Amiens, December 24, 1607_

The inhabitants of the House of the Moon and Venus had their own spiritual needs and besides, the 24th was slow for custom. On Christmas Eve the premiere brothel of the city shut its doors and all the fine painted ladies trooped out in veils to one of the churches that would accept them.

Tonight young René D'Herblay wasn't with them.

Legs crossed neatly like a tailor, the small boy sat under the house's great dining table, already laid with food for the  _réveillon_ meal. He caught folds of crisp white linen put down in a triple layer and knotted them, small hands working slowly and carefully at the knots.

The ceiling creaked and he stilled, as a woman groaned, deep and throbbing, and light footsteps pattered along the boards of the upstairs room.

Behind him a small girlchild gurgled. He turned and pulled Pauline onto his lap and showed her the knots. “It's to keep the devil out,” he explained, and worked at the knots again as her tiny hands batted at the cloth.

“There you are!”

René didn't jump.

A fox-red braid swung over a girl's shoulder as René’s older sister ducked her head to peer under the table. There were damp stains on the apron she'd tied over her midnight-blue dress.

“I can help,” René said, quiet and stubborn.

“You _are_ helping,” she said. “Looking after the little ones is helping.” She bit her lip and added, “There's really nothing to worry about, René. Mamá's baby wants to see us so much, it's coming a bit early, that's all.” He stared at her, as another pained groan sounded through the house. “And Tia Euphrasie is _really good_ at babies...”

The groaning continued, a high bright edge coming into it. The girl in his lap started to sniffle and he tightened his arms, kissing the top of her head, and she settled.

“I'm going back up,” his sister said. “You and Pauline have to think up a name if it's a girl.”

“Marie,” he said.

“That's _my_ name,” Maria-de-Pilar said in exasperation.

“Estelle,” young René said. “The stars are out so call her for a star.”

He covered Pauline's ears as his mother began to scream.

 

**

 

**The Feast of the Three Kings**

 

_Paris, January 6, 1610_

Down the wide avenue a procession held forth in pomp and splendour, carrying three tall wooden statues, of crowned men, two pale and one carefully painted swarthy, their crowns and robes picked out with gilt and jewels striking bright pinpricks of sparkle under the winter sun.

“It's just glass,” Flea said scornfully. The tiny yellow-haired girl kicked her feet against the edge of stone on which she sat. “I snuck in t'the warehouse they keep ‘em, took a squizz.” She stuck her pointy chin out, as if to fend off all argument.

Porthos said nothing, the skinny boy sitting beside her to keep the brisk wind off. On the girl's other side, Charon opened his bag of stolen pastries and Porthos and Flea delved into it, hands and mouths sticky with honey and sugar and jewel-bright preserved fruits, their bellies already full but with room for a bit more.

It was winter, and the wind blew cold against their skinny bones. But the sun was shining and from their perch on the high point of Notre Dame the tiny procession below glowed bright and rich like a river of jewels.

Flea dropped her food for a brief moment and jumped to her feet, teetering on the edge of stone and sky. She whooped into the bright air.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // "... In Northern France, kids are given out gifts on St. Nicholas’ Day, which falls on the 6th of December, not on the Christmas Day…”
> 
> https://christmas.365greetings.com/christmas-traditions/christmas-traditions-france.html
> 
> I'm probably muffing this by including the shoe/stocking stuffing in this. We will assume it's a regional tradition of Pinon and move on."
> 
> // _“It's to keep the devil out,” he explained, and worked at the knots again as her tiny hands batted at the cloth._
> 
> My source actually put this custom as coming from Provence. We'll assume the Moon and Venus had workers coming from all over, bringing their customs with them.
> 
> "The meal is eaten at a table laid with three tablecloths and three candlesticks, representing the Trinity. The ends of the tablecloth are knotted together so that the Devil can’t get under the table."  
> // "... In Northern France, kids are given out gifts on St. Nicholas’ Day, which falls on the 6th of December, not on the Christmas Day…”
> 
> https://christmas.365greetings.com/christmas-traditions/christmas-traditions-france.html
> 
> I'm probably muffing this by including the shoe/stocking stuffing in this. We will assume it's a regional tradition of Pinon and move on."
> 
> // _“It's to keep the devil out,” he explained, and worked at the knots again as her tiny hands batted at the cloth._
> 
> My source actually put this custom as coming from Provence. We'll assume the Moon and Venus had workers coming from all over, bringing their customs with them.
> 
> "The meal is eaten at a table laid with three tablecloths and three candlesticks, representing the Trinity. The ends of the tablecloth are knotted together so that the Devil can’t get under the table."
> 
> https://vanessafrance.wordpress.com/2016/12/16/10-french-christmas-traditions/
> 
> // It's getting a wee bit late, but I'll see if I can do some scenes for d'Artagnan and the girls in a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!

**Nativity**

 

_ The Royal Alcazar, Madrid, December 1612 _

 

Ana María Mauricia, Infanta of Spain, ignored the stiff lace ruff and the boning in her tight-laced brocade doublet, the velvet cap stiff with pearls, the heavy skirts: they were all she'd known. Instead: “They do not!” she told her younger brother.

“Do so,” Felipe answered with the serene impudence of the young. “The falconer's apprentice, he is from Catalonia, and he says they all do it. It isn't  _ proper _ without the _ caganer.” _

“It isn't proper  _ with _ it.” She stared at the pretty, precise nativity scene that she and the children and their father had set up last night in the family's apartments: the manger and the shepherds and the three kings and the wooden sheep and cows and donkeys: José with his arms around María robed in heavenly blue.

In her younger brother's hand, half hidden in the starched lace of his sleeve cuff, was another figurine, a little red-capped peasant with his pants halfway down his - showing his bare - and the little pile of - by his feet and - The peasant had a very serene, satisfied expression on his face; he looked calm, peaceful. She pulled her eyes away. 

“If I am to be ruler of All the Spains,” Felipe said piously, “I must think of the traditions of  _ all _ of my subjects.” 

“You just want to put in the, the  _ caganer _ because you are  _ seven  _ and anything to do with,  _ you know,  _ is funny to you.”

His face took on an expression of angelic innocence above his own stiff, lace ruff.

Ana sighed, and hid the little shitting man behind a fuzzy sheep.

Felipe beamed up at her.

“Eh, big sister, will you take the  _ caganer _ when you get married and go to France?”

“No!”

Her little brother looked up at her, eyes bright. “Will you write me?” 

She found his hand, small and warm. The stiff laces of their sleeve cuffs rustled. “Of course.”

He beamed again.

“Ana!” It was their father coming around the corner, tall as a spear and with a warm light in his eyes, surrounded by their younger siblings like a flock of ducklings. “There you are!”

Ana picked up her heavy skirts and, pulling her brother along, ran into the King of All the Spain's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not actually sorry. Sorry about that.
> 
> // Anne of Austria was said to have had a very warm relationship with her father and siblings, acting as a surrogate mother for the younger children after her mother died. She was betrothed when she was ten, and married at 14. Not unusual ages for aristocratic children of the era.
> 
> // I got the Caganer from this website of Spanish customs:
> 
> https://www.happyhourspanish.com/spanish-christmas-traditions/
> 
> _This little figurine is very common in nativity scenes throughout Catalonia. It typically depicts a peasant in traditional Catalan attire, squatting down to take a dump, with his pants halfway down his leg, his bare backside showing, and an actual representation of poop below him._
> 
> _The practice of placing el caganer in the nativity scene started as far back as the 17th century, and while the original intent is not completely agreed upon, most representations do not attribute the sentiment to vulgarity or blasphemy. One of the most popular theories is it represents the cyclical nature of fertilization, grooming the ground for future growth..._
> 
> // If I understand the history correctly (I might have muffed it), Catalonia, while maintaining its own laws and administration, considered the Spanish Hapsburgs its rulers at this point. (Trouble kicked up around 1640.)


End file.
